I’m sitting on the couch sharing my Cheez-Its with the dogs. They love Cheez-Its. Who doesn’t? They’re completely unhealthy, filled with sodium, fake cheese, msg and probably lots of other chemicals that I can’t pronounce, but they are so more-ish. You can’t eat them without wanting more. I never buy them at home because my sister-in-law told me Goldfish were much less poisonous if I were going to buy junk crackers so that’s what we normally have. And I can easily resist Goldfish. But we’re on vacation and the kids were with me at the grocery store and one of them grabbed a box of Cheez-Its off the shelf and threw it into the cart and now we’re all addicted to them, including the dogs. I don’t mind sharing though because poor Hank is limping. He hurt himself the other day playing in the snow with Charlie and either just tweaked something, in which case he will get better with rest, or he’s pulled something major, like an ACL and will need expensive surgery. Probably the latter, knowing my luck. I’m trying to keep him quiet, but he leaps up every time I move (he’s very polite) and the wood floors are slippery. Also Charlie is very rambunctious and tries to wrestle with him every time they go outside. He’s such an agreeable dog that he does suffer for the sake of her happiness.
Last night my husband and I left them all to fend for themselves and we went out to dinner alone, which was heavenly. When we returned all three children were sitting on the couch like ducks in a row watching Good Will Hunting, dogs in between them. You would never know they ever threatened to kill each other, or worse. Clearly we need to leave them alone more often because when we’re around they bicker incessantly. But last night they looked like angels sitting there happily together. The rush of love and gratitude I felt was not merely from the wine I’d drunk during dinner. They paused the movie as we came in and said, “We saw a fox!” Apparently a red fox came to the door and peered in the glass at them. At first they thought Charlie had gotten outside again because she does have a foxy face. But she was inside and started barking at the fox, who didn’t move, unperturbed. My middle daughter then ran to the fridge and grabbed the leftover coq au vin from Christmas to feed the fox. The dogs couldn’t believe the treachery. They didn’t get any coq au vin. I was worried the fox would show up again expecting to be fed, but other than some tracks in new snow the next day we never saw it again.
We’ve seen deer and elk around the house, and there was a cougar in the neighborhood a few years ago that still has my youngest a bit nervous about walking the dogs. We were out with them the other day and she asked me, “If a cougar attacked us, what would you do?” “Run,” I responded. “But would you just leave me to be eaten?” she asked, concerned. “Of course not,” I said. “Well then would you put yourself between me and the cougar?” Or would you grab my hand and run with me?” she asked more pointedly. “I wouldn’t save myself before you,” I reassured her, finally understanding what she needed to hear. “The dogs would probably distract it long enough so we could get away.” She eyed them dubiously, one small corgi and a very non-aggressive limping labrador clearly didn’t make her feel very protected. “Let’s hurry home. I’m a little freaked out,” she said, quickening her pace up the driveway. Soon safely ensconced on the couch, wrapped in a blanket before the fire, her laptop open to Marble Blast, she asked me, “Mom, can you get some Cheez-Its?” The dogs heard her request and scrambled over to her, planting themselves at her feet, heads turned hopefully toward me for my answer.
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